


Brass Balls

by Wrespawn



Category: Grand Theft Auto V, Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alley Sex, Banter, Blood, Car Chases, Cop AU, Death Threats, Face Punching, Gaslighting, Gun Kink, Gun Violence, Handcuffs, Humiliation, Insults, Knifeplay, M/M, Manipulation, Protective Geoff Ramsey, Sex on a Car, Threats of Violence, Violence, cop!Jeremy, high intensity banter, sexualization of murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-21
Updated: 2019-03-17
Packaged: 2019-10-14 00:38:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,954
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17498330
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrespawn/pseuds/Wrespawn
Summary: Jeremy Dooley might be a rookie on the Los Santos police force, but he’s not afraid of anything.  Not even the most feared criminal in the city: the Vagabond.Warnings: Slightly romanticized noncon, gun violence (both in and out of a sexual context), knife violence (in a sexual context), explicit threats and very violent language, humiliation/degradation, sex in a public place, “daddy” mention.





	1. Chapter 1

Sunlight was barely peeking between the steely skyscrapers of Los Santos, and the city was already steaming.

Officer Jeremy Dooley leaned on the door of his squad car with a chilly iced coffee in hand. Summer heat pressed around him, but the breeze coming off the river made it bearable. Jeremy sipped from his plastic cup and let the wind wash over his face.

From inside his car, the radio crackled. Staticky words rumbled through the open window, the speaker clearly bored.

_“This is Jones, there’s a disturbance on west Vespucci Boulevard. And whoever drank the last Red Bull is about to get a bigger disturbance, because I’m over here starting my day with coffee like a peasant.”_

Another crackle, another voice.

_“Need backup, boy?”_

_“It’s probably some kid with a can of spray paint. What I need is a Red Bull.”_

_“Ah, well, sorry about that.”_

_“ … You son of a bitch, it was you. You drank the last one, didn’t you?”_

_“Better get on that disturbance there, Michael boy, delinquents won’t arrest themselves.”_

An incoherent curse grumbled from the radio and it went quiet. Jeremy smiled into his iced coffee. Condensation was beading on the plastic cup, a welcome coolness against his hand.

The drink splashed across the pavement when the unmistakable hammer of gunshots blasted from the radio. Jones’ next words were a scream.

_“Jesus Christ, it’s the Vagabond!”_

Jeremy flung himself into his car, the engine snarling to life as the radio crackled with voices.

_“Michael! Michael, are you alive? Come in!”_

_“Shit my fucking dick off, this is Jones, fucker got me in the leg! Send the whole fucking station, he’s heading east down Vespucci!”_

A new voice crackled to life as Jeremy tore onto the main street.

_“Jones, this is Detective Ramsey, do not pursue. All units converge on Vespucci, and not a damn one of you had better be in a group of less than six!”_

Jeremy yanked the com to his lips as he wove through traffic, sirens blazing. “Ramsey, this is Dooley, I’m on Vespucci now and closing.”

_“No you’re fucking not, Dooley! Keep your distance until backup arrives, that’s an order!”_

Jeremy swerved around an early commuter, eyes scanning the road. “He’s already headed my way, I can cut him off!”

On the other side of the street, something flashed by.

For a single heartbeat, a motorbike roared past with a leather-clad man hunched over the handlebars, the red morning sun glinting off a dark metal mask. Jeremy had seen so many photos of that mask that one glance was all he needed.

A steely grey skull, twisted in a grin. At the station, even photos of that mask were handled like bombs.

Another few heartbeats passed before Jeremy remembered pull a harsh u-turn and tear after the bike. His com was nearly pressed against his lips as he sped down the road.

“I’ve got a visual! I’ll stay on his tail!”

_“Am I talking to a wall? Wait for backup, I repeat, wait for motherfucking backup!”_

Jeremy cursed as he slid around a corner, leaving tire streaks on the pavement. The zooming motorbike wove in and out of traffic just a few car-lengths ahead. “He’ll get away if I wait for backup!”

_“Great, excellent, let him get away!”_

“Are you shitting me right now, Ramsey?”

_“We don’t go after the Vagabond unless we’ve got a fucking swat team locked and loaded, and you’re not a swat team!”_

Jeremy twisted the wheel and jolted around another corner. “He’s on Power Street heading south, tell the backup to cut him off!”

_“You just don’t know when to turn off your brass fucking balls, Dooley —“_

The bike swerved down an alley, out of view. Jeremy cursed and slammed on the breaks. He left paint on the wall as he jolted around the tight corner and wedged his car down the alley.

There was no movement among the bricks, the motorbike discarded against a wall. Jeremy yanked his car to a stop and was out the door with the engine still running. He reached for his gun and a rough hand slammed him against a wall before his fingers could touch the holster.

A machete jammed against his neck, so hard he choked. A powerful body pressed against him, and Jeremy found himself staring up at a mask that he’d seen a dozen times before, in photos passed around the station like bombs.

Cold dark metal glinted in a skeletal smile, and behind the mask, eyes more frightening than any skull were locked on Jeremy like laser sights. Jeremy’s heart pounded, the only noise in the dead silence. He didn’t dare to breathe.

“This is where a smart man might try begging,” the Vagabond murmured.

Shit. Shit.

The machete hadn’t been kept well. Jeremy could feel the rusty edge digging into his neck, so jagged it must have been sharpened against a curb. No one told him the Vagabond was this big. Jeremy swallowed, his throat bobbing against the machete.

“E-every squad car in Los Santos is headed here right now,” he choked out.

“Mm. Is that so?”

The Vagabond reached into the pocket of his jacket. When he lifted his hand, there was a switch clasped in his gloved fist, the button already pressed. Jeremy’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t hear the boom, so the target must have been far away, but he knew what a switch like that was for.

“ … Now every squad car in Los Santos is headed to the docks.” The Vagabond slipped the switch back into his pocket. “ … Where does that leave you, pig?”

“Nnh —“ Jeremy winced as the machete pricked his neck. “F-fuck —“

“That’s right. It leaves you fucked.”

A rough hand grabbed at his belt, yanking off the night stick and tossing it away. Jeremy could hear breath from behind the mask. There was no looking away from those cold blue eyes. No one at the station talked about what you were supposed to do if you were alone with the Vagabond. No one survived it.

“No begging. Hm.” The taser was next, pulled off Jeremy’s belt so roughly that it yanked his hips forward. “You must not be a smart man.”

“Y-you don’t strike me as the kind of man who listens to begging,” Jeremy stammered.

“Oh?” Somehow, Jeremy could tell there was a smile behind the mask. “What kind of man do I strike you as?”

Two gloved fingers hooked into Jeremy’s shirt collar, yanking his face close. He could see every detail of that bony metal mask, the hint of a face through the eye sockets. The machete was digging harder against his neck.

“ … Do I strike you as the kind of man who might torture a cop before killing him?”

Jeremy barely dared to breathe as he stared up at that mask. “N-no.”

“No?”

“You strike me as the kind of man who always tortures cops before killing them.”

“Ha!” The Vagabond pulled back. “Cheeky. I like you.”

For a third time, he reached for Jeremy’s belt, and this time he slipped the gun out of its holster. Jeremy flinched as it was waved in his face, his pulse thumping under the rough blade of the machete. The gun was so close to his face that he could see down the barrel.

“ … What’s this, a cop scared of guns?” The cold tip pressed like a kiss against Jeremy’s forehead. “That’s fucking adorable.”

The touch was brief, almost playful. The gun lifted away from Jeremy’s forehead, slipping into the Vagabond’s belt. Jeremy flinched when the Vagabond grabbed the handcuffs off his belt.

“Rookie, right?” One cold cuff locked around Jeremy’s wrist. “Must be. You wouldn’t have come after me alone otherwise.”

Jeremy’s arms were yanked together, and the second cuff locked into place. As the Vagabond pressed close, something jabbed into Jeremy’s gut, and his entire body went tense. No matter how hard he pressed his shaking body back against the wall, he couldn’t pull away from the boner digging into his belly.

Shit shit shit shit shit.

The Vagabond slipped his machete into his belt and grabbed Jeremy by the front of his uniform.

“You’re coming with me, fresh meat.”

Jeremy stumbled as he was dragged towards his squad car. Panic pounded in his chest. A helpless curse caught in his throat as he was slammed face-down over the hood. The metal was hot from the engine, just shy of painful against his face.

“Nnnh —“ Jeremy thrashed as the Vagabond pressed up behind him. “N-no, fuck —“

“Do you know who I am?”

A big, gloved hand fisted on the back of his uniform pants, yanking them down. Jeremy cursed against the hood of the car.

“Mother fucker —“

“That’s cop fucker.” A hand slapped against Jeremy’s ass. “Answer the question, cop. Do you know who I am?”

He could hear a zipper, a shuffle, and then the hot, firm weight of what could only be a dick pressed against his bare ass. Jeremy squirmed against the car, legs kicking fruitlessly.

“I-I’m gonna put a bullet in your skull myself, you sick son of a bitch!”

A rough hand grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his face against the car. Jeremy could feel his lip split against his teeth, blood smearing against the hood.

“I’m about to be very nice and give you lube,” the Vagabond growled. “Would you like it to be lighter fluid, or would you like to answer the question?”

“I-I —“ Jeremy’s next breath was half-sob, choked with frustration. “ … I know who you f-fucking are.”

 _Vagabond_.

There was no other name that could make a room full of Los Santos police officers go quiet. It was only in hushed voices that anyone would discuss his crimes, as though speaking too loud might draw his attention.

_He kills cops. He hunts them._

The wet sound of spit hitting a hand made Jeremy flinch. A gloved thumb smeared saliva over his hole.

“Good boy. Say it.”

 _He butchers cops_. Jeremy’s chest heaved against the hot hood of the car. _He tortures cops. He rapes cops._

A cock pressed against his slicked-up hole. “Say my name, pig.”

“F-fuck — “ Jeremy tucked his face between his cuffed arms with a shudder. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck —“

_We don’t go after the Vagabond unless we’ve got a swat team. You’re not a swat team, Dooley._

The Vagabond forced him open and pushed inside. A furious, miserable whine slipped out of Jeremy, his hands shaking against the car. The strong gloved hand on his neck kept him pinned in place as inch after inch sunk into his body.

_He rapes cops._

Hips pressed against his ass, the scrape of jeans and the brush of a leather jacket. Jeremy’s breath jolted at the first thrust. There was barely enough lube, and it probably would have hurt a hell of a lot more if his head wasn’t spinning with so much fucking adrenaline.

“Come on, rookie. What’s the name they taught you to fear?”

“Fuck —“ Jeremy’s breath was heavy, each deep pump seeming to stab at his lungs. “V — Vagabond —“

“Mmmh, there you go.”

The next rough slap of hips against his ass made Jeremy shout a curse against the hood of the car. Fury and terror and adrenaline and humiliation all boiled in his gut, burning him up from the inside out, and none of it explained why his dick was rock hard as the worst criminal in Los Santos pumped into his ass.

The Vagabond grabbed the com from Jeremy’s belt and slammed it onto the hood of the car next to his face.

“Call for backup.”

The com was close enough that Jeremy’s heavy breath steamed against the black plastic. His hands twitched in their cuffs, but he didn’t reach for it.

“W-why?”

Hard, cold metal pressed against Jeremy’s head, the barrel of his own gun. Jeremy’s heart thumped in his throat, his hands shaking. The Vagabond’s voice was low, and for the first time, he sounded horny.

“Because I’m in the mood to kill a cop.”

The next thrust came harder. Jeremy winced against the metal, his legs tensing.

“I’d like to gun down your buddies while I finish. Spray some brains on the pavement.”

The safety clicked off. Jeremy bit his lip harder and harder until he tasted blood, his legs shaking as the Vagabond humped between them. He could feel the outline of his gun against the back of his head, the hole where a bullet would burst out. Every heartbeat seemed to thump in his ears.

“ … But if you won’t call for backup… you’ve got some perfectly good brains right here —”

A curse spat out between Jeremy’s clenched teeth and his hips jolted. His back arched, pressing back against the violating pumps as he came in hot splatters all over the bumper of his car. Jeremy buried his red face against the hood of the car in a failed effort to muffle his breathless broken curses.

The Vagabond’s thrusts slowed. Then stopped.

“ … Wow.” The dryness in his voice made Jeremy wince. “That’s an interesting fetish you’ve got there. Freak.”

Jeremy’s cheek was flushed hot against the hood of the car. “I-I’m not the sick fuck here, you psycho.”

“Yeah, but I like murdering. You like being murdered. That’s… weirder.” The gun dragged from his skull to his neck, and the Vagabond’s hips moved again. “Killed plenty of cops before, never killed one who got off on it… ”

Jeremy’s breath hitched as the gun dug into his neck. Each roll of hips jostled it, metal scraping against skin. With a gun against his head and a cock balls-deep in his ass, there was no point in not gambling hard. He clenched his jaw and took a breath.

“Y-you’d fuckin’ like to see that crime scene, huh?”

The gun nudged. “Keep talking, pig. You’ve got about thirty seconds to live.”

Jeremey bit his lip. The gun dug into his neck, his words broken by panting. “Picture the fuckin’ headlines: Cop found — nnh — bent over his own s-squad car with jizz in his ass and a bullet in his head — B-bet you’d like to know photos of that are getting passed around the station —“

It felt good, better than it should, to hear the Vagabond gasp as he came. His movements stuttered, the gun pressing so hard against Jeremy’s neck that it almost broke skin, still buried to the base. He pulled out in a slow, wet drag, actually lubricated for the first time since he bent Jeremy over.

The Vagabond caught his breath. When he finally spoke, his voice was strained.

“You — you just dirty talked me!”

Jeremy yelped as he was thrown off the car. He caught himself against the front bumper, ass on the ground and shaky hands gripping the jizz-slick bumper. The Vagabond’s breath was heavy through his mask as he loomed over Jeremy.

“You tried to get me off! I can’t believe how stupid that was!”

“Didn’t take much, did it?” Jeremy spat, his chest still heaving.

The Vagabond placed a heavy boot against the car bumper, leaning down over Jeremy. He slid the machete out of his belt, tapping the rusted tip against Jeremy’s chest. “I was a hair away from pulling the trigger. You’re lucky my dick went off first.“

Jeremy snorted. “Yeah, but your dick still went off first.”

“Ha.” The machete tilted his chin up, pricking his skin. “Funny, I remember your dick going off first.”

Jeremy’s jaw clenched. The Vagabond laughed once behind his mask, then picked up Jeremy’s com from the hood of the car. As soon as he clicked it on, Detective Ramsey’s voice came blasting through the speaker.

_“Dooley! Dooley, come in allfuckingready! Where the hell are you?”_

“Good morning, officer.” The Vagabond spun his machete idly as he spoke into the com. “This is the Vagabond. You really need to train your rookies better.”

_“ … Oh no. Shit, Dooley —”_

“Surprise.”

_“Where’s Dooley?”_

The Vagabond leaned over and rested his arm on one powerful thigh, machete dangling from his hand. He held out the com so it was inches from Jeremy’s face.

“Say hi, Dooley.”

Jeremy’s gaze darted between the com and the steely grin of that mask. He took a deep breath.

“Corner of Carson and Brogue, behind the —“

The crunch of a gloved fist slammed into his face, splitting his lip in a second place and knocking him to the ground. The pavement hit his face, and a boot slammed down on his cheek to pin his head against the street.

“Ah ah ah, none of that.” The Vagabond’s boot ground against Jeremy’s face, metal skull sneering down at him. “Now say ‘hi’ to the squad mate you let down, Dooley.”

Jeremy winced as the boot pressed harder. “F-fuck —“

“Say ‘daddy fucked me so good’ to your squad mate.”

The com crackled in the Vagabond’s gloved fist. _“Hey hey hey, I’m the one you’re talking to, Vagabond!”_

“Hm.” The Vagabond clicked off the com and dropped it. “Not anymore.”

With one last slow grind of rubber treads against Jeremy’s face, the Vagabond dragged his boot away. Jeremy caught his breath, not daring to sit up. From behind the mask, those eyes dragged over his body, from the bloody lip to the half ripped-off pants.

“ … All right, cop.” The Vagabond stepped over him. “You’ve been fun. You’re free to go.”

Jeremy blinked as the man passed over him. He rolled over on the pavement, twisting himself somewhat upright. “ … You’re seriously not gonna kill me?”

“Nah. Waste of a nice ass.” The Vagabond slipped his machete into his belt. “You could be entertaining for a second round. And if you get boring, well… your throat won’t be any less slittable tomorrow than it is today.”

Words spilled out before Jermey could think better of it. “I’m cuffed and beat up and you’re still scared to take me captive, huh?”

Ramsey was right. He didn’t know when to turn off his brass fucking balls.

The Vagabond swung his leg over his bike. “Don’t have to.” He touched two gloved fingers to his forehead and flicked them in a mock salute. Morning sunlight glinted off his mask. “When I want you, I’ll catch you again. It’s more fun with a hunt.”

The bike revved, and the Vagabond zoomed away, down the street and out of Jeremy’s view.

For a moment, all Jeremy could do was breathe. Numbly, he fumbled for his com. It slipped from his shaking hands twice. Finally, handcuffs jingling, Jeremy lifted the com and clicked it on.

“ … D-detective Ramsey?”

_“Dooley? Holy shit, you’re still not dead!”_

“Yeah, but, uh…” Jeremy rattled his cuffs with a wince. “I might need a pickup. And please, I’m begging you, don’t ask any questions.”

_“Are you injured?”_

“Just my pride. Listen, the Vagabond is… ” Jeremy cast a glance down the alley, at the corner the Vagabond had disappeared around. “ … He got away.”

_“No shit.”_

“Jesus, are you really gonna play ‘I told you so’ right now, Geoff?”

_“That’s Detective Ramsey to you, punk. Listen, I am real glad to hear that you’re not ground beef, I’m real fucking glad, but I hope you learned a goddamn lesson.”_

Jeremy shivered. His wrists were sore from the cuffs, and he could feel a filthy slickness dripping from his body to the greasy pavement. His gaze hadn’t moved, locked on the last empty space where he’d seen the Vagabond. He could still see that metal smile, cold eyes glinting through the holes.

“ … Nah, I don’t think I learned a damn thing, Detective.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains HEAVY gaslighting and a very spooked Jeremy.

Jeremy stared sightlessly at the papers on his desk.

Around him, the Los Santos police station hummed with activity, but it wasn’t the kind of activity Jeremy wanted.  He wanted more than anything to be out on the street, moving his legs and breathing fresh air and getting things done.  Geoff Mother-Hen Ramsay had sentenced him to two weeks of desk duty for the crime of going after the Vagabond alone.  A punishment, allegedly, but Jeremy suspected it was more about keeping a close eye on him.   Jeremy hadn’t told Detective Ramsay what really happened in that alley, but he had a feeling Geoff suspected, or at least feared, the truth.

Jeremy blinked and straightened up in his chair, struggling to focus on his work.  Behind him, he could hear footsteps crossing the station, and soon officer Free’s voice.

“Right this way, there’s a good suspect.  Need you to step into this room and I’ll ask you some lovely lil’ questions.”

Jeremy sighed and shuffled the stack of papers.  At least Gavin got to interrogate suspects.  Ramsay was trying to do him in with all this desk work.

“Whatever you say, officer.”

Jeremy spun around in his chair, so fast he almost dropped the papers.  There was Gavin, and following him in cuffs was… Jeremy’s heart thumped, his breath frozen.  The man was facing away, tall and broad-shouldered, hair pulled back in a short ponytail.

Jeremy swore he recognized that voice.

Before Jeremy could think better of it, he flung himself from his chair and bolted after them.  The suspect had stepped into the interrogation room by the time he caught up, but Gavin was still lingering by the door.  He turned at the sound of Jeremy’s approach.

“Hey.  Free.”  Jeremy gestured at the door, slightly out of breath from his sprint.  “Mind if I take this one?  I’m going stir crazy.”

Gavin squinted.  “Aren’t you on desk duty, you little sausage?”

“C’mon, go grab yourself a break.  Do me a solid.”

Gavin sighed.  He handed over the papers.  “When Ramsay chews me out,” he threatened, “I’m telling him you bribed me.”

“As always, Gavin, I’m touched by your loyalty.”  Jeremy took the papers with a smile.  “Enjoy your break.”

“Cheers, I’ll have a donut in your honor.”  Gavin threw him a salute and sauntered away.

Jeremy took a deep breath, his heart thumping as he turned his attention to the interrogation room.  He wasn’t sure he was ready for what might be on the other side of that door, but he couldn’t stand sitting at his desk and not knowing.  He pushed the door open.

A man in handcuffs sat in a chair on the far side of the table.  There was no black and blue leather jacket.  No gloves, no sneering skull mask.  Just a… guy.  A guy in a t-shirt and jeans with just a bit of well-maintained scruff on his jaw.  His blue eyes lifted the moment Jeremy stepped through the door, and they locked on him.

Jeremy froze.  A shudder of fear shot down his spine, a sudden instinct to bolt from the room.  Fuck, he didn’t think this through.  He had no idea what the Vagabond looked like without his mask, but if the man sitting at the table was the Vagabond,  _he_ knew exactly who Jeremy was.  He’d know instantly that this was the same rookie cop he’d grabbed in an alley and raped at gunpoint.  And now Jeremy was alone in a room with him.

Fuck.

For a moment, the man just stared.  To Jeremy’s horror, he felt frozen at the door, unable to take a step closer.  He couldn’t read the man’s expression.  At last, the man smiled.

“Huh, you’re not the same one I had before.  I hope I didn’t spook the other officer.  He seemed nice.”

That  _voice._ Jeremy couldn’t fucking tell if it was the same voice or not.  It was low and smooth like he remembered, but the tone was so polite.  So compliant.  He couldn’t fathom the Vagabond saying the words “he seemed nice” with complete sincerity.

“Yeah, no,” Jeremy grunted.  He hoped his voice sounded steady as he shut the door.  “You’re not  _that_ scary.”

He was terrified.

The man chuckled.  “Relieved to hear it, officer…uh…”  His gaze slid down, slow and obvious, lingering on Jeremy’s chest.  “…Dooley.”

_Say hi, Dooley._

Jeremy’s breath was tense.  Did the suspect  _really_ need to read the name tag on Jeremy’s uniform to know his name?  Or was it just for show, and an excuse to eyefuck him?

_Say “daddy fucked me so good,” Dooley._

Jeremy tried to clear his head as he shuffled the papers that Gavin had handed off to him.  He was already familiar with this case, but the papers were a good distraction from the images his mind was painting.

A corner store had been robbed at gunpoint by a masked man last week.  Street cameras put this very suspect walking towards the store not long before the robbery.  Records had shown that he was a registered gun owner.  He matched the height, the build… but that wasn’t enough for a guilty verdict.  They needed more proof, or a confession.

As Jeremy’s gaze began to focus on the words on the document rather than skimming over them in a haze, he realized he might be about to learn the Vagabond’s real name.  The thought made his heart skip.  Printed at the top of the page were two words:

_Ryan Haywood._

Jeremy blinked.  It was so… normal.  Human.  Jeremy lifted his gaze back to the man’s face.  He looked like a Ryan.

…Did he look like a Vagabond?

Jeremy strode towards the table, letting his eyes fall back to the papers.  “What do you know about the Slee-Z Mart on Carson street?”

“Lovely establishment.  I buy my diet coke from there.”

“Did you go there last Wednesday morning?”

“I did.”

“And what did you do?”

The man allegedly called Ryan Haywood shrugged.  “Bought my diet coke and left.”

Jeremy frowned.  “And what time of day was that?”

This felt too weird.  At this very moment, he might be chatting about fucking diet coke with the man who violated him on the hood of his own squad car with a gun at his head.  Jeremy squeezed the papers tighter so his hands wouldn’t shake.  Fuck, he should have let Free handle this.

Ryan shrugged.  “I’ll be honest with you, officer, I’m not positive.  Maybe around nine?”

If this really was the Vagabond… was he worried that Jeremy would recognize him?  Was his heart hammering underneath that calm smile, knowing he was unarmed and handcuffed in a Los Santos police station and he could be outed at any moment?  As dangerous as the Vagabond was, he sure as shit wouldn’t escape if Jeremy told the whole fucking police force to jump him at once.  He was  _trapped_.

For the first time, something other than fear shuddered down Jeremy’s spine.  Fuck, he liked the thought of that.  The Vagabond, scared of  _him_.  He wanted to take out his gun and press it under the man’s jaw.  Force him to look up.  See him shake.

As him if he wanted to die.

Jeremy pushed the thought away with a tense breath.  Jesus, was it worse that the thought of  _that_  made his dick hard, or that his dick had been hard from the moment he thought he heard the Vagabond’s voice behind him?

He forced himself to speak, to go through the motions of interrogation.  “And if we asked the cashier if he remembers selling you diet coke, what would he say?“

Ryan laughed.  “I hope I’m memorable enough that he’d vouch for me!  Then again, I’m sure he made a lot of sales that day, and buying diet coke isn’t exactly exciting.”

“But robbing a store at gunpoint, that’s a real party, huh?”

Not a flicker on the man’s face.  “Oh, I’m sure he remembers  _that_ one.  I rather pale in comparison, don’t I?”

Jeremy’s heart thumped.  He swallowed as he shuffled the papers.  “If the cashier had the chance to speak to you,” he pressed, “would he recognize your voice as the same one that threatened him at gunpoint?”

Fuck.  He shouldn’t have said that.

For just a moment, he thought he saw the man’s smile twitch.  “I don’t know.  Would he?”

“Don’t get cute, suspect.  You’re on thin fucking ice.”  Jeremy tossed a security cam photo on the table.  “Is this you?”

To his credit, Ryan leaned forward and looked at the photo before responding.  “No sir, officer.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.  I mean, a ski mask?  Really?”  Ryan scoffed, letting a bit of levity enter his voice.  “No style.  You wouldn’t catch me dead in that.”

Sunlight had glinted off the skull mask in the alley.  Jeremy clenched his jaw and leaned over the table.  “And what kind of mask would  _you_ wear, hm?”

Ryan chewed his lip, as though he had never given the idea thought before.  “…Mm, something that makes a statement,” he mused.

“What kind of statement?”

“What kind of statement would you like me to make, officer?”

“Don’t fucking play coy with me, V—“  Jeremy bit his tongue.  “Haywood.”

That smile was too fucking charming, too sweet.  “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Jeremy couldn’t stand it.  The compliance, the respectfulness, it had to be a fucking act.  Damn it, he’d never be able to tell if this man was the Vagabond unless he heard the man laughing at the sight of his come splattered across Jeremy’s bloodied face.

 _Call me pig._ Jeremy’s breath was growing labored, his knuckles white against the table.   _Say it like you wanna fuck me.  Like you wanna kill me._

Fuck, his professionalism was slipping.

A frown of concern furrowed Ryan’s brow.  “…Is something wrong, officer?”

The creak of the door opening made Jeremy jump.  His head whipped up in time to see officer Jones leaning through the door.

“Hey, Dooley, we’re letting him go.  They caught the guy who did it.”

The words didn’t register.  Jeremy stared at Michael in disbelief before finally finding his voice.

“They— they what?”

“Yeah, one of the other suspects confessed.  Also, he had all the stolen shit in his car.  Pretty clear-cut.”  Michael gave a brisk nod towards Ryan.  “Lemme know when you’ve wrapped up here.”

The door shut.  Jeremy stared at it, dumbfounded.

No.  No way.  It… it wasn’t him.  Jeremy’s head reeled as he stared at the innocent smile on Ryan Haywood’s face.  He’d been so certain.  His gut instinct screamed at him that this man was guilty, was  _dangerous._

That this was the Vagabond.

Was it just a fucking coincidence?  Did LSPD just happen to accidentally arrest the Vagabond for the one fucking crime he  _didn’t_ commit?  Or… shit, what if Jeremy had been wrong from the start, and this man wasn’t even the Vagabond?  What if he was just some random guy that made Jeremy’s heart race and his dick twitch because he happened to  _remind_ Jeremy of the time a serial killer raped and almost killed him?

Fuck.

Ryan shrugged, lifting his cuffed hands in innocence.  “No hard feelings, officer.  You’re just doing your job.  Keeping the city safe.”

Jeremy must look horrified if the man felt the need to soothe him.  He swallowed and straightened up, reaching for his cuff key.

“S-stand.  Let’s get those cuffs off you.”

Jeremy stepped around the table, but froze as the man stood.  Fuck fuck fuck he was tall.  And  _big._ The way he was looking down at Jeremy made his skin crawl.  This was how it felt in the alley, when the Vagabond towered over him, pinned him helplessly against the brick wall.  Jeremy tried to breathe, looking up at Ryan Haywood at the same angle he’d looked up at the Vagabond.  He could almost feel the rusted machete against his neck.

He… he didn’t want this man uncuffed.  Didn’t want to be alone with him when he was unrestrained.

Jeremy almost flinched as Ryan lifted his cuffed hands.

“…Officer?  If I may?”

… But he had to, of course.  Jeremy struggled to breathe as he lifted the key and fumbled with the cuffs.  Fuck fuck fuck, it must be so  _obvious_ how nervous he was.

 _Click._ The cuff snapped open and slipped off Ryan’s wrist.

Nothing happened.  He didn’t grab Jeremy by the neck.  Didn’t slip a hand between his legs, squeeze his twitching dick.  Didn’t growl in his ear that he’d better drop his pants unless he wanted his throat slit.

Jeremy’s hands almost shook as he unlocked the other cuff, sliding them off the man’s wrists.  His heart pounded.  Nothing was going to happen.  He had a gun strapped to his hip.  There was a camera recording the entire room.   _That just means he’ll have a gun to press against your head, and video footage of what he does to you on the interrogation table—_

“Anything else I can do for you, officer?” Ryan asked mildly.

Jeremy swallowed.  “Y-you’re free to go.  For now.”

“For now?”

Jeremy held the man’s gaze, his voice hard.  “ _For now_.”

Ryan smiled.  “There’s more than one criminal in Los Santos, rookie.”  He rubbed his wrist where the handcuffs had been.  “…Even if you’ve got a  _favorite._ ”

The door swung open again, and for the second time, Jeremy jumped.  He stepped back from Ryan as though he’d been caught doing something wrong.

Michael wore a scowl as he leaned through the open door.  “Jeremy, seriously?  We need this room back some time  _today._ ”

“I-I’m working on it!”

With another huff, Michael shut the door.  Jeremy didn’t meet Ryan’s eyes as he clipped the handcuffs to his belt.

“C-come on, I’ll walk you out.”

It was a strange relief to leave that small, private interrogation room behind.  Jeremy felt safer the moment he was back in the bustle of the station.  He let out a long breath.  Out here, surrounded by his fellow officers, he was less afraid that the Vagabond would grab him from behind, slam him face-down against the nearest table, force his legs open.

Even so, the image wouldn’t leave him.

Jeremy kept his eyes forward and his pace quick as he moved through the room.  He was escorting Ryan Haywood out of the police station.  He might be escorting the Vagabond out of the police station.  Uncertainty writhed in his stomach.  It felt wrong to be letting him just  _go._

It felt like too long before they reached the door.  

Ryan stepped out onto the street, but Jeremy held back on the station’s threshold, as though it could offer him sanctuary.  Like he’d be vulnerable the moment he stepped outside.

Ryan stretched his arms above his head.  “Aaaaah, feels good to be out!  Stuffy in there.”  He paused, then turned back towards the police station.  “Oh, uh… officer Dooley?”

“…Yes?”

“Do you drink coffee?”

Jeremy almost choked on his tongue.  This… this could  _not_ be happening.  Jeremy blinked wordlessly, staring in horror at this man who might be the Vagabond and was definitely asking him out on a date.

“Not with suspects,” he finally snapped.

Ryan laughed.  “Not a problem, seeing as my name’s been cleared.  You’ve got my number on file now; call me sometime.”

Before Jeremy could respond, the man gave him a wave and was strolling away down the street, calm as ever.  Jeremy’s voice continued to elude him.  There… there was no way the Vagabond would seriously ask out a cop on a coffee date.  There was no way.  Ryan Haywood couldn’t be the same man.  Couldn’t possibly have a skull mask in his closet next to his registered firearm.  He couldn’t have been the one who grabbed the gun off Jeremy’s belt and pointed it at his head, the one who fucked him in the alley until he  _came._

And yet…

_There’s more than one criminal in Los Santos, rookie.  Even if you’ve got a favorite._

Jeremy’s heart wouldn’t stop pounding as he stood at the station door and watched Ryan Haywood stroll further and further away.  He had never mentioned he was a rookie.


End file.
